"A recent photo," Richard said again, jaw tight. "In case something happens to you. For the memorial portrait." Charles almost laughed. Cursing him the second they were in the same room. Classic. "Not necessary," he said, voice flat and unbothered. "I'll stay alive. Just for you, old man. Otherwise nobody in this family's got the guts to pull the plug when the time comes — you'll still need me around for that." Richard's face went from red to purple in under two seconds. "You bastard—" He spun toward the hallway. "Finley! Bring me the whip!" He was already reaching down, yanking one handmade leather shoe half off his foot like he meant to throw it straight at Charles's smug expression. Michael got an arm across Richard's chest before the shoe left his hand. Ethan grabbed Charles by the shoulder and hauled him back a full step. "Enough," Michael said, not loud, but final. Mila and Susan crowded in on either side of Richard, murmuring, patting his arm, trying to talk him down.
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